


What It Means To Be A Family

by Maven_Fair



Series: In which... [5]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Finally updating, Gen, HERE I AM, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Reincarnation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, a month later, aka that tag: the fic, but i would recommend reading the other parts, god theyre idiots and i love them, if you havent read the others you might be fine?, this is gonna be a woozy i can tell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2020-10-20 23:43:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maven_Fair/pseuds/Maven_Fair
Summary: “Five kids presumed quirkless suddenly developing latent fire quirks, despite the fact that none of them have family members with quirks even vaguely resembling theirs,” he mumbles into his coffee. It had been a field day for the press; five kids go from quirkless to quirked. It was an instant sell.Things are changing. Villains are on the rise, the Number 2 hero is being interrogated, and the Vongola Tenth Generation find themselves not as alone as they thought they were. But questions upon questions arise, from the police to the former mafioso to the villains, and no answers seem to be in sight.And just why are they here, anyway?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so, so much. All of you. You can't believe how much stress and anxiety has built up as the school year starts back up. Despite the fact that I'm literally the worst at responding to comments, I will always, always, always read them. I have a separate folder dedicated to the wonderful comments that you have all given me, and that is truly why I gained the determination to begin this once more.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! And thank you, again.

(She is born to a prostitute in Italy, one that wants nothing to do with the extra burden that a baby brings. She grows up in an orphanage, and ends up leaving the moment that she is old enough.

She does not go to school. She does not learn how to read or write. She knows only the history of the small street that the orphanage resides on. 

The kids call her creepy, the adults call her retarded, and they all happily await the day that she’ll become yet another dead prostitute on the streets.

The only things she owns is the meager clothing on her back (two ratty shirts, one pair of pants, one pair of shorts, and worn down shoes), the necklace and blanket that she came with, her first name, and memories of a past life.

_ Her _ past life.

She does not go to school because she doesn’t need to; the only thing she needs to learn in this life is Italian. 

She doesn’t need to know how to read and write.

She doesn’t need to know this world’s history.

She has all that she needs for this mission to be a success. To avenge the loss of her family, her friends, her  _ hero. _

Yet it’s four years into the new world that she discovers the truth:

All of it, the pain, the suffering, the sacrifices, was for nothing.

Absolutely fuck-nothing.)

* * *

Tsukauchi Naomasa deserves a medal for all the shit he puts up with, day and night. Especially in regards to hero startups who, just because they’ve got a pro hero license, think that they can walk all over the police without anyone saying anything.

“Listen, kid. With the Number 2 hero out of commission we cannot spare any police officer for, what was it,” Naomasa says, looking down half-heartedly at the file the hero had given him. “Securing the Tokyo area? What does that even mean?”

“What it means is that Tokyo is so overrun with villains that we need more police officers out there. I don’t care if you have to get off your ass and actually do work,” the hero spits. What was their name? Flashfire? Fireflash? At this point he could care less.

“I’ll give it to the Chief,” he says instead of yelling at Flashfiend (yes, that was his name). 

“I swear to god you policemen are so full of yourselves,” Flashfiend mutters as he finally walks away. Naomasa sighs and leaves his desk for the break room before yet another person accosts him.

“You good, Detective?” Arikawa asks, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Looks like that hero was about to explode when he walked out.”

“If I ever have to talk to another hero again it’ll be too soon,” he says in lieu of an actual response. Arikawa laughs and passes over the tray of pastries. He immediately takes one of the cookies and pops it into his mouth as he moves past her to get himself his third cup of the day.

They sit in companionable silence for a few seconds, both sipping their coffee, before Arikawa breaks the silence. “You hear about those kids with the fire quirks?” she asks while picking at something underneath her nails.

“Yeah. Must’ve been a dream come true for them,” Naomasa says. “Five kids presumed quirkless suddenly developing latent fire quirks, despite the fact that none of them have family members with quirks even vaguely resembling theirs,” he mumbles into his coffee. It had been a field day for the press; five kids go from quirkless to quirked. It was an instant sell.

“Wonder how it feels to be one of them,” Arikawa says. “What I wouldn’t have given for that to happen to me.”

“If it had just been one of them I would’ve just suspected an affair or something,” he states contemplatively. “But five of them? And after they had all heard about the Endeavor case?” 

“You really think that’s what happened? They just so happened to burst into flames?”

“There’s also the fact that they didn’t even seem to be fire quirks at all. One kid’s quirk made people pass out, another made his couch disintegrate, two of them gave their parents a crazy acid trip, and the latest healed his foot.”

“But they’ve all got flames.” Arikawa finishes. She downs the rest of her coffee, and immediately goes for another cup. Once she finishes pouring she checks her watch and groans. “Sorry, Tsukauchi-senpai, I’ve got a meeting with the higher-ups soon. But seriously, I can see why you’re one of the best,”

“No worries,” he answers easily. “I was also about to -- ” It’s then that his phone rings in All Might’s bald eagle ringtone that he had installed as a joke. 

“Toshinori? What’s up?” Arikawa and him share a nod as she heads out. “Is something wrong?”

“Naomasa-kun!” All Might booms, voice still so loud despite the fact that he’s definitely lowered it in order to speak into the phone. “Terribly sorry about calling out of the blue like this.”

“It’s no problem,” he answers easily. 

“Well, I was calling because, um,” he stutters. Naomasa can almost see him blushing like he does when he gets embarrassed or nervous about something. “You’re in charge of the Endeavor case, right?”

“Yeah,”

“Do you think that I could maybe… check up on Endeavor’s child?” Naomasa’s eyebrows raise, but he’s not surprised. “I can’t help but feel as though I’ve… failed him.”

“Toshinori… ” Naomasa says, voice stern. “He was not your responsibility.”

“Regardless,” All Might continues, voice quiet. “If you could… ”

“Of course. When are you free?”

* * *

_ _

_ 3 days after October 14th. _

“Hayato? Hayato!”

“Mom, what do we do?”

“Call the fire department, or the police, I - fuck,”

“Ubwuh,”

“Hayato you need to calm down right now - ”

“Mama!”

“Oh my god! Ito, how close are the firefighters?”

“Mom, Meijust said her first words!”

“What?”

“Hayato, whatever you do,  _ don’t _ touch the TV!”

_ “Tsuna… ” _

_ 3 days after October 14th. _

“Uh, Dad? Takeshi’s on… fire?”

“Oh. Huh.”

“We should probably call someone,”

“We really should.”

“Dad, I’m feeling kinda… tired… ”

“Takeshi? Takeshi, why are you crying?”

_ “Tsuna… ” _

_ 1 week & 4 days after October 14th. _

“Boss,”

“What is it?”

“It’s about Kyoya, sir.”

“Oh? What did he do this time?”

“Sir, he… ”

“Spit it out, Chronos.”

“Sir, he burst into flames.”

_ Tsunayoshi…  _

_ 1 week & 2 days after October 14th. _

“Kouhei,”

“Shizuko,”

“Kouhei, are you seeing this?”

“Can you get to the phone, dear?”

“Hehehe!”

“Shh, Hitoshi,”

“Shizuko, I can’t tell where the floor is anymore, let alone the phone,”

“Mukuro-sama, do you see - ”

“Kufufufu!”

_ 1 month after October 14th. _

“Sir, Ma’am!”

“Yes?”

“Your - Your son, Ryohei-kun,”

“Is something wrong? Did something happen?”

“Ma’am, does anyone in your family have fire quirks? Or yours, Sir?”

“No, no they don’t.”

“That’s what I thought. If you’ll just go in - ”

“Oh my god, Ryohei!”

“Onii-chan’s on fire!”

“Ryohei?”

_ You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re all alive…  _

_ 2 days after October 14th. _

“Tsuna-nii?”

* * *

The quirk facility they’ve brought Hayato to is disgustingly optimistic. Painted on the walls are murals of the sun shining down on happy villages, kids playing happily together, and other annoying things like that.

On the walls were shelves filled with various scientific brochures, with titles like “Your Quirk, You, and Your Changing Body,” “How Come I Don’t Look Like The Other Kids?” and “Learning to Love Yourself and Your Unique Quirk.”

The room is decorated sparingly due to the doctors being wary of his apparent disintegration quirk. One bed with baby blue sheets and pillow covers. Extra blankets are in a bag at the foot of the bed. A desk, a chair, a bedside table with a daffodil in it, and a small wardrobe that can only fit four shirts, four pants, and two pairs of shoes. 

He’s also not allowed to go anywhere without the gray, constricting, and heavy quirk-suppressing gloves. Should his quirk get out of control, the wrists of the gloves would jab two tiny needles into his skin and effectively shut down his quirk.

Hayato misses the Hatsume house, with its constant clutter of mechanical parts and almost never-ending motion. He misses Ito and Sozo, and their limitless spirit. He misses being able to move around without the itchy and hot gray gloves. He misses everything about his new family. 

_ Not new now, I suppose. I’ve been with them so long…  _

“Hayato-kun,” There’s a man at the door (Dr. Tatsuya), with a white lab coat covered in various pins and stickers, varying from “Be Pwoud of Yourself!” with a cartoon cat, to one depicting a smiling bright purple mutant-quirk boy. He has slicked-back black hair, dove-gray eyes, and an average build. “I have some great news!”

Hayato nearly glares back, but he knows that if Sozo were to hear about it she would make a fuss, so he just settles for biting his lip. “What.” He grits out. He can feel his new “quirk” coming up to the surface, nearly bubbling over - 

_ Stop. _

The doctor isn’t fazed, instead smiling patiently down at him. Prick. “We thought that you having a latent fire quirk was a one-off - that happens sometimes when medical records get messed up - but we just recently found out some exciting news,” The doctor winks at him. Hayato doesn’t even bother hiding his disgust. “As it turns out, there’s another like you! I want you to come with me to meet your new friend,”

_ What poor soul will suffer here with me, _ he jokes silently to himself. Hayato takes care to drag his steps as slowly as possible, the doctor walking beside him. Dr. Tatsuya still hasn’t stopped smiling, guiding him through the hallways of the quirk research center. Hayato would look at the ground but it has, like the walls, been painted with various quirk facts and silly murals.

He settles for glaring petulantly at the ceiling, no matter how bright the lights are.

“Here we are,” Dr. Tatsuya says, stopping in front of a door marked “Lounge Area (Ages 4-8)”. Hayato sighs, preparing himself for interacting with children a quarter his age. “And don’t be shy! There’s only one other kid in there, so I hope that you guys’ll get along!” He smiles expectantly at Hayato, who glares at him one more time before opening the door and walking in.

The room itself is reminiscent of a simple hang out area. Bright red wooden stools and bean bag chairs surround tables that have arts and crafts supplies. There’s a TV and a DVD player on one of the walls. There’s a snack table, various bookshelves, and a calendar that has random dates circled. He also sees a box on nearly every wall labeled “First Aid: Quirk Ver. 10”

Sitting in one of the bean bags at the middle of the room is a boy around Hayato’s age. His back is turned away from him, but he can tell that he has black hair and looks pretty athletic (for a four-year-old, at least). He’s also wearing the quirk-suppressing gloves.

Ah. So that’s what they meant by “another like him.”

He doesn’t seem to have heard Hayato come in, either. He waits a few seconds for the other boy the notice him, and then finally clears his throat. “Hey,” he calls, voice commanding and aggressive. Best to show who’s the boss first thing. He can’t afford to have someone hanging off of him. “Are you the other kid they brought in? What’s up with - ” As he begins a slew of questions, the other boy turns around.

“Uh, yeah, I’m - ” The boy’s eyes widen, hazel and so, so, so familiar. “… Hayato?”

“Takeshi,” Hayato breathes out. And before he knows it, they’re closing the distance between themselves, tears dripping down their faces. Hayato keeps his eyes open, despite the fact that the tears burn, determined to make sure that he’s not dreaming.

Yamamoto. Takeshi. Tsuna’s other right hand, and Hayato’s best friend. 

The man that he… 

“Takeshi, I don’t - ”

“Hayato, why are you - ” 

They both blink at each other, faces still blotchy from crying. 

And then they burst out laughing.

* * *

Todoroki Tsunayoshi stands in front of the mirror, a familiar yet unfamiliar face staring back at him. Young and so, so innocent looking. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself for the first time in the last few hours. The detectives, while well-meaning and kind, were obviously trying to get as much information as possible from him, leaving Tsuna feeling like a worn-out rag of a person.

He looks rough; under his eyes are bags that seem to be growing steadily larger the more he looks, his skin is pale and stressed out, and his hair, normally fluffy and soft, looks greasy from him running his fingers through the tresses in stress.

His eyes move down, towards his neck. He runs his hands along the bandages there, pushing down slightly in morbid curiosity for how painful it would be. A dull pain throbs there until he pulls his fingers back. He can almost feel the lick of flames at his skin, biting him in ways that his own never had in his old life. He can almost see Enji, standing tall and proud and all too determined that he would become his greatest weapon.

_ He can see Rei, his new mother, pulling at Enji’s arm in protest, not stopping even when the flames from the man’s beard grow larger and larger, threatening to hit her. She needs to do this, at least for one of her children. _

_ He sees Fuyumi, ducking out of the room, footsteps loud and echoing as she rushes to one of the house phones, tears building in her eyes and a scream on her lips. She needs to call Touya. _

_ He sees Natsuo, staring in horror in the doorway, not even snapping out of it when Fuyumi brushes up against him in her rush. For once in his life, the one time he wishes he would move, he’s standing as still as a statue. _

_ He doesn’t see Shouto, but he can hear him, the anguished cries that only a toddler could get away with resounding through the Todoroki household. He doesn’t know what’s happening, but he knows that the scent of fire means bad things. _

Tsuna runs his hands through his dirty hair, staring intensely into the mirror. God, after all he’d been through, you’d think he’d be able to handle trauma better than this. “Get yourself together, Dame-Tsuna,” he whispers to himself.

He can almost hear Reborn admonishing him, threatening him with a bullet to the head. Or Hayato and Takeshi exclaiming that calling himself Dame isn’t right, and then getting into another argument. He can hear Ryohei offering to train with him to the extreme. He can hear Mukuro snickering and Chrome laughing softly. He can hear Kyoya, angrily muttering about how any self-respecting omnivore shouldn’t act like that.

He can hear Lambo, declaring that his Tsuna-nii can’t be sad because he’s there!

He can hear a door opening and voices, two adults and one child. He hears the adults leave, and then the door shut. Then silence.

_ Oh god, _ Tsuna thinks, turning on the faucet and busying himself with washing his hands, attempting to buy time until he has to come out. He splashes his face with some water, hoping to erase any evidence of his near-panic attack. 

_ I guess they’ve moved onto interrogating me with other children. Well, here goes nothing, _ he thinks, listening to the muffled voices of the adults outside. He takes a deep breath and opens the door.

There’s a boy, standing awkwardly a few feet away from the door. His hair is curly and black, and he’s wearing a cow-print t-shirt. He looks older than him by a couple of years. But his face looks familiar. So, so familiar. Familiar enough that there’s no way in hell he wouldn’t recognize him. Tsuna inhales sharply, nails digging into his palms.

“It’s Todoroki. Todoroki - ”

“Tsuna-nii?” the boy says, and he feels his whole life shift.

(And really, who else wears cow-print clothing?)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "September 18, 2019"
> 
> ... 
> 
> hi?

“Saitama Prefecture Police Department, how may I help you?”

“Our children - Ah, my name’s Shinsou Shizuko - Our children have just awoken their quirks.”

“Shizuko, Mukuro hasn’t stopped laughing,”

“Shh! I’m on the phone, dear.”

“And I’m standing on… vines?”

“Oh, how exciting! What kind of help will you be needing? Medical, elemental, quirk-specific… ”

“Do you have a branch for illusionary quirks?”

“Kufufu!”

“How did they even get these quirks? I know I don’t have anyone in my family with anything like this - Mukuro! Stop laughing like that for the love of - Honey, do you have anyone in your family with illusion quirks?”

“Illusionary? Well, that’s quite rare but I suppose - ”

“I’m saying I have no idea where we are and whether or not we can move.”

“Ah! Hito-chan, don’t try to crawl the moving ground - ”

“Oh dear! Are you in a position where you or a loved one will be physically harmed by moving?”

“No, it’s more like I have no idea where up or down is.”

“Understood. We’ll be sending over a pro hero to assist you shortly. If you can, please stay on the line with me to ensure that any and all new circumstances can be recorded.”

“Of course, thank you so much,”

“Nagi-chan, Muku-chan, can you please try to turn off your quirks?”

“Kufufufu!”

“Tsuna… ”

In the background, the TV is rambling on about the Endeavor Case. It’s repeating the same name over and over again: Todoroki Tsunayoshi.

* * *

“He’s at the street behind the 24-hour mart,” Shouta says into his phone, confirming one more time that the thief was out cold and tied securely before hanging up. “What kind of person tries to steal in broad daylight,” he murmurs, already daydreaming of his sleeping bag and its soft interior. He should be able to squeeze in a nap between patrols… 

His hopeful dreams are dashed when he hears his work phone ringing, the ringtone alerting him that it’s from the police. “This is Eraserhead,” he says in a monotone, hoping that they accidentally mixed up his phone number with some other heroes (unlikely, but… you never know). 

“Eraserhead-san,” the voice on the other end says, sounding apologetic, “I’m sorry, but could you head towards a quirk activation site? I know you don’t usually do things like this, but we don’t know who else to call,”

“Why can’t one of your police officers?” he asks irritably. The man is right: quirk accidents aren’t up his alley. Besides, it didn’t sound like it was super urgent.

“Well, you see sir,” the man stutters, obviously taken off guard. Good. “The thing is, uh, that apparently the quirks are either illusionary or something to do with the composition of atoms. Either way, this kind of quirk - ”

“Can be extremely dangerous due to its unknowns, I’ve got it.” Shouto stares into the distance, playing with the idea of simply saying “no” and fucking off to god knows where, before saying, “Just send me the address.” 

Shouta can hear the man sigh in relief, feeling only a twinge of guilt. “Thank you, Eraserhead-san.”

“Mn,” he says neutrally. The nervous policemen rattles off an address just two minutes away, apologizing once more before hanging up. He can already feel the strain of the day catching up with him, his twenty-hour shift finally rearing its ugly consequences. He’s too good to have his exhaustion affect his work, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still just. So tired.

Hopefully, it’ll be a quick erase the quirk, talk until the police come, and then leave. Rarely do these things ever take longer than a couple of minutes, tops. An illusion quirk could be hard, a quirk that changes the real world even worse, but it’s not as though the kids in question seem to be putting anyone in danger. 

A quick check on his phone shows that he’s arrived at the address. Shouta dons his goggles just in case, and heads up the stairway. “Just in and out,” he whispers to himself, climbing carefully towards the apartment number. “In and out, and then you can pass out.” _ And grab some sushi, _ he thinks.

It’s just his luck that the exact opposite happens.

(For one, his quirk _ doesn’t work on them _.)

* * *

Lambo can’t turn away. 

The image of Tsuna, _ his _ Tsuna, slowly becomes blurrier and blurrier, but Lambo can’t risk blinking. Not when he’s _ here. _ In front of him, whole and alive. “Lambo, you’re - you’re on fire.”

He hears more than sees what Tsuna’s talking about. Lightning crackles along his body, lighting up the room in flashes of green. He feels his flames, familiar and comforting and responding to his call in a swiftness that it hadn’t done for years before his death.

“Tsuna-nii, I - ” he chokes out. His breaths are coming in short bursts now, tears falling in waves down his face, and his mouth quivering.

He feels the guilt of his death, the helplessness as he watched all of the people Tsuna left with him die one by one. Watching Hayato consume himself in work, only hearing about Takeshi’s death, Kyoya becoming so overwhelmed with guilt that he fell to his own flames, seeing Chrome and Mukuro fall together, and watching, helpless, as Ryohei lost his smile.

He feels the emptiness in his heart as he stared at their graves, day after day, wishing to live in a world that was only a fantasy.

“Lambo,” Tsuna says softly. He walks over, twisting past the hospital bed and the couch before stopping in front of him, gently wiping away the tears. He simply stands there, looking at him patiently. Lambo realizes he has to look down to meet his eyes, and a pained sob makes its way through his body.

“Lambo,” Tsuna repeats. His smile is as he remembers it, all-encompassing and beautiful in ways that Lambo could rarely ever picture in his mind’s eye. “Lambo, it wasn’t your fault,”

He cries harder, at that. He knows that, how could he not? Years after, countless sessions with various therapists, telling himself in the mirror that the face he sees is not the face of a murderer… 

And yet. “Tsuna-nii,” he whines, voice choked with so much emotion that he can only vaguely hear the words, “Tsuna-nii,”

“I’m here, Lambo-kun,” Tsuna whispers, reaching up to stroke his hair. 

“I’m here.”

And the room bursts once more into vivid green flames.

* * *

Kyouya stares blankly at Chrono, twisting the pathetic excuse of a children’s toy in his hand impatiently. (Nothing will ever replace the sleek feel of his tonfas. Even his spares could never compare to the real things.) The thing is pleasing to the eye, at least, a vivid purple accented with black. Not the usual color scheme of a children’s toy. 

The beads at the end jingle unrhythmically, clumsily, in a way that he knows Chrono hates but will never chastise him about. It brings childish satisfaction when he sees the man’s muscles tense (the same kind of satisfaction he got riling up Mukuro). He resists the urge to smirk.

“Kyouya-sama,” Chrono says, clearly still annoyed but trying to not let it show (although that mask certainly helped. Perhaps not against a trained mafioso, but it would hypothetically help for other people). “While I am never one to discourage learning of any kind, especially a skill as important as information gathering, don’t you think that this is a little… excessive?” He gestures towards his collection of any and all news articles referring to Todoroki Tsunayoshi or the Todoroki family.

Kyouya continues to stare at him, feigning ignorance. Chrono gets nervous whenever he just… stares at him. Kyouya thinks it reminds him of Chisaki. “Kyouya-sama, what I’m trying to say is that maybe you should try to get into something else? Like - ”

“Todoroki Tsunayoshi.” Kyouya states, staring straight into the black, beady eyes of the plague doctor mask. 

When he had first learned about the meaning of the mask he nearly laughed out loud. It was still hilarious to him, in a way that he couldn’t fully understand why anyone would think that that was a good idea. The message of the Eight Principles of Death were so disgustingly laughable. Purge the world of quirks, yet use those quirks to purge. Why anybody would pass up an excuse for more power was beyond him.

Kyouya resisted throwing the toy at Chrono’s face. What a pathetic excuse for a carnivore. “I want to meet Todoroki Tsunayoshi.”

“Meet him? Kid - ”

“Kyouya-sama.” 

“Kyouya-sama, I’m sorry but you can’t meet him. He’s a hero’s kid.” Chrono says “hero” likes it’s a curse word, and Kyouya can almost get behind that aspect of the Eight Principles. At least they knew how ridiculous the idea of “heroes” was.

“I don’t care. I want to meet him.”

Chrono stares at him, before sighing heavily. “Jesus, did you inherit your stubbornness from Overhaul-sama or from your parents?”

“I want to meet him, not his dad, Chrono.”

Tsunayoshi has never really needed saving, but Kyouya didn’t really care. Omnivores were so rare to come by that he couldn’t let this one get away. 

Not even if he died again. 

* * *

(_ Fuck, fuck, fuck, _ she thinks to herself, staring at the people in front of her in panic. Her slick jacket, usually so carefully maintained and cleaned, was stained in the spit and blood of the five men currently laying dead in the streets of Barcelona. Her fingers clench into fists, the nails cakes with drying blood, and she tries to breathe shallowly.

“Don’t panic, don’t fucking panic you idiot,” she says under her breath, slowly walking out of the alleyway, “There’s no goddamn cameras there anyway, god, just don’t panic, don’t be suspicious,” She catches the eye of a little girl, playing with a ball in the street. The girl smiles up at her, and waves, yet all she sees is someone who can rat her out. She begins to walk faster.

_ There’s a train stop closeby, I can go there and then grab my stuff at the hotel when it’s safer, _ she thinks, sliding into a crowd of people. She makes it there without arousing suspicion and rides the train to the nearest stop, only raising a few curious looks at the state of her clothes.

When she gets back into the streets, this time in a much less populated area, she spots a man with a motorbike and carefully beats him up without showing her face before riding away on it, back to her hopefully safe hotel room.

When she gets there, there’s no signs of break-ins. She gathers her meager possessions up, all fitting into one neat little duffle bag, grabs her fake passport, and turns to leave.

Someone stops her.)

* * *

The newfound irony of his name is not lost on Reborn. 

Life is always ironic, Reborn supposes. Living for twice as long as any human should ever be allowed to live lets him recognize that, although perhaps he only really sees the full effects of its irony when he was seconds away from death.

It was ironic that the boy he trained not to die ended up dying before him.

It was ironic that he told the boy he trained that he couldn’t rely on others to heal him, yet he was the first person to rush to his aid.

It was ironic that the greatest sun in the world couldn’t heal a fucking bullet wound.

Perhaps that’s why his death was so… anticlimactic. It’s ironic, that the world’s greatest hitman would end up dead just like every other mafioso. Or perhaps it was just life.

He had been careless, jumping into a situation that was very obviously a trap (yet he couldn’t find it in himself to ignore the little boy, who looked so scared and frightened and so much like Tsuna - ). His body was old, as much as he’d like to ignore it. 

(At least, that’s the excuse he gives himself when thinking back on it, but he knows his body wasn’t that weak.

No. No, it certainly wasn’t his body.)

So when he helps the boy escape (“Just tell them Reborn sent you, kid, now go!”) and he’s faced with a hundred armed mafioso, all he hopes is that someone would allow him to die quickly.

(He always thought that he’d go out with a fight, guns blazing, taking down his assailant and having one last taste of the sweet drug that is victory (the drug that he spent over one hundred years chasing after, only to realize in his last moments how truly addicted to it he was).

The reality is much less elegant, just like so many things about the mafia world.)

* * *

(“Oh, god, senpai… ”)

* * *

Amajiki Yuta is born with his eyes wide open. 

His father, a newly turned 16-year-old, doesn’t pay this any mind, instead holding the already cooling hand of his girlfriend of eleven months. 

Perhaps this is a good thing, as Yuta seems just a bit more aware than any newly born baby should be.

Perhaps this is a bad thing, as his father… is not ready for parenthood yet. 

But that’s just life.

* * *

“Chisaki-sama,”

“I’m busy,”

“Sir, please don’t hang up - ”

“I’m busy. Next time, redirect your call to Chrono.”

“Chisaki-sama! It has to do with Kyoya!”

“… I’m listening.”

“I’m assuming you heard about the fifth kid?”

“The one with the healing quirk?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of course I did, I would have to be living under a rock to not have. What about him?”

“Well, sir, it’s just that… ”

“Spit it out, I don’t have all day,”

“Sir, it’s just that they seem to all know each other somehow. Like they’re connected in some way.”

“And?”

“Sir, I overheard them talking. They mentioned… they mentioned the name ‘Kyoya,’ sir.”

“… Understood.” 

“Sir?”

“Perhaps it’s time that I pay your little research center a visit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … So. I’m back? 
> 
> First off, I want to say thank you to everyone who left such amazing comments. The motivation that comes from reading those is hard to describe. Secondly, I want to say that this update does not mean I will be promising another one soon. This one took so long to put out (with various things like life getting in the way) and I am very sorry about that, but I highly doubt that I will suddenly have the ability to whip out another anytime soon. Truth be told, I’ve kind of moved on from BNHA (I stopped reading the manga after the League of Villains takeover arc) but I can never seem to let go of KHR. Life in the past few months has not been very kind to me or my mental state. As of right now, I’m actually not that into anime (although I’m currently watching Tower of God as Stray Kids have done the OP and ED) but I really love this cast of characters so much. 
> 
> I hope this chapter doesn’t seem too forced, I wrote half of it about five months ago and honestly haven’t touched it until today, when I flash wrote this. Speaking of, I had this burst of motivation after seeing [Crumble and Rebuild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Tomate/pseuds/Quirkless_Natsuo%E2%80%9D>@Quirkless_Natsuo%20\(Captain%20Tomate\)</a>%20has%20made%20a%20fic%20inspired%20by%20this%20series.%20It's%20about%20Hayato%20called%20<a%20href=) by Quirkless_Natsuo (Captain Tomate) and I would highly recommend it! I became so overcome by happiness that I rushed to my computer to write. I urge you all to check that out as I immensely enjoyed it! 
> 
> Next year I will be taking six AP classes. Updates will, again, be sparse. I am definitely a one-shot kind of author. But I want you to know that no comment goes unread, no kudos goes unnoticed, and no love goes unreciprocated. During hard times like these reprieves like fanfiction can be so important, so I hope me updating this has brought some joy into your life. That’s all I really want my writing to ever do. 
> 
> Name Meaning(s):  
Yuta: Excellence, superiority, gentleness.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! I wrote the first 600 words a month ago, lost determination, and then flash wrote the Naomasa scene. (I hope that wasn’t boring?) The Hayato scene took me literal weeks to find any form of creativity regarding it. Fun fact: the flower on his nightstand, a daffodil, signifies rebirth. Tsuna’s scene was made tonight, roughly 20 mins before I uploaded this. I really, really, really enjoyed it (as demented that sounds lol). Also he’s standing on a step stool during the whole thing cause hes smol lol.
> 
> Also, about the Hayato and Takeshi relationship: I just really like the ship, okay? I've also been planning it to be a thing since the beginning, so... 
> 
> Lambo is officially 2 years older than everyone else. The others are two years older than Class 1-A. 
> 
> I will be continuing this! I swear! I’m just kinda taking 4 AP classes this year (yippee!) and one of them includes AP Seminar. So I’ll most likely turn to fanfiction as a form of creative reprieve.
> 
> Thank you so, so, so much for your kind words. A certain encouraging comment was the reason I went “Enough is enough. Either continue it, or abandon it. Choose.” And I found myself really, really not wanting to stop this series. So, while updates will be few, sporadic, and varying in lengths, I do hope that you’ll stick around.
> 
> Thank you again for reading!


End file.
